200 BPM
by Silas Goodwill
Summary: The human heart is about the size of a fist and has a mass of between 250 and 350 grams. It is located slightly left of middle in the chest, and normally beats at 70 to 60 beats per minute under normal circumstances. Revised.


Thump-ump…thump-ump…thump-ump…

The beating of my heart as cold sweat envelops me.

Thump-ump…thump-ump…

The sound of heavy footsteps. Massive feet, slaming up and down like giant hammers, ready to pound flesh into a gruesome paste upon the floor.

Thump-up. Thump-up. Thump-up. Thump-ump.

It's like a fat toad, only red and big. Its gun in one hand; I pray it don't see me.

Thump-ump thump-ump thump-ump thump-ump.

It turns and fires at a wall. Sweet mother of mercy it's loud!

Thump-ump-thump-ump-thump-ump-thump-ump!

Need something, anything. Sitting on the floor, back against the wall, rubble in front, rubble beside, gloved hands, and a gun.

Hand in my pocket, three grenades. Grab one, pull the pin.

tink…

Wait a moment, see the robot…

….tink….

Toss it at the robot's feet…pray to God I made the mark…

….ta-tink….

WHOOM.

Legs gone, torso intact. It reaches for its gun. I grab mine, and squeeze the trigger like a vice. "Allow me to introduce you to your distant cousin!"

Bullets fly as "Cousin Lead" screams out of the chamber.

God Almighty; thank you for that sound.

Its paint vanishes, splashed around by the dings and dents of bullets as they leap onto its frame like hungry dogs. The wails of anguish fade. Solders emerge from the rubble.

A Commander sounds off orders. We run.

Bullets everywhere; fellow men downed. Survivors switch places a hundred times; deaths replaced by more rescued comrades.

Somehow I make it.

Three clicks, out of ammo, stoop down and grab a fallen solder's gun. A Giant Robot, covered in shiny metal that reflects the surroundings like a hellish mirror, burst out of the building.

It has a hammer, a testament to Thor himself. Aware of that when the man in front of me is made very flat.

Scatter, dive for cover, hope it doesn't pick me.

Someone has a rocket launcher. Where did we get a rocket launcher? Fire, explosion. Hammer is gone.

We charge, chuck grenades, holler out warnings to no one in particular, and watch as the Monster falls with a contorted electrical scream that echos around the shattered buildings.

We run some more.

More bullets, people fall where they stand as small drones scream overhead. There are cries from the radio, calls for backup and support, reports of gunfire and static.

We are dying left and right.

Every block a mile, every mile an eternity. Finally, someone shouts that we've arrived.

The Doctor is here, atop a giant podium, surveying the ants beneath him. Laughing like the mad-man we all know him to be, as the city falls to his army.

...Again…

We radio, and watch as that laugh of assurance changes to a scream of rage, like a fat brat that just had his toy taken away.

...Again…

Hundreds of ships, blazing angels of heavenly glory, raining fire upon the robots through out the city. He issues commands, orders, demands, and threats. We move….stealthily.

It's quiet here.

Not like the city, where falling bullets, dying robots, screaming wounded, and explosions come together to form a unholy concoction of madness that pounds against the ears. Like a twisted gremlin that wants to beat your brains through the eardrums.

We're close now, so…..close…up against the podium…..cocky fool, so sure of his victory he can't even see down the end of his own nose.

Charge is tossed to me…"why me?" ….stick it to the podium, press the red button.

Beep.

…run…

Beep.

Beep-beep-beeeeeeeeeeeeeeep!

BOOM.

Blue lighting courses across the Podium. The Doctor is made infinitely aware of our presence as the EMP wave shuts off all the machines in his immediate area. The Central Minds for all the robots are struck silent, knocking out all robotic coordination. The robots are deaf as stone

We run like something very fast.

He's screaming. Louder now, like a Prophet about to call down lighting from Zeus. The Robots can hear us…are waiting for us, their Local Minds coming online.

Deaf maybe, but not blind.

We duck, dive, weave, get away from the area. A man falls next to me; I grab him by the shoulder and pull him up.

Jeep, abandoned, even has a .50 Cal in the back. Two men jump in, I take the back seat with the wounded.

We drive.

More bullets flying, I grab a First-Aid Kit. Need to occupy my hands. Wounded is moaning in pain, I take off his armor and examine the injury.

Coarse, puckered from shrapnel. A single round and it leaves a large hole. I swab the wound and apply rubbing alcohol.

He loves that.

Screams and bucks, I hold him down and wrap his shoulder. It's bleeding hard.

Bandage tight. Crimson stained already.

Reapply the armor, hand him his gun.

Reload.

.50 Cal is out of ammo. Fire from windows. Almost to the pickup zone. Guns are out of ammo.

I still have some grenades.

We are stop; cars block the road. Robots everywhere, rushing out of alleys, nothing better to do.

Get out of the car. Hurl a grenade in a general direction, pull ourselves over the cars.

The Pickup is above us, in front of us, lowering, not stopping, we need to run to make it.

"Go! Go! Go!"

Robots knock the cars away, filling the air with gunfire. Gunner takes one in the shoulder, then in the back, finally in the head. He falls.

Driver still has some ammo; he sprints backwards and sprays with his machine gun.

I hurl a second grenade over my shoulder, my last, hear it bounce off the asphalt and immolates the closest robot.

Transport gunner is calling for us, even as he thunders away with his heavy machine gun.

Driver is out of ammo; he kicks his gun in a weak effort, sprinting to the ship.

Wounded is running as hard as he can.

The two of us are within feet of the ship, it lowers tantalizingly far, just enough for us to make the last leap in.

The Ship's gunner is hit in the neck by a bullet, it flips him around and out of the transport.

Driver needs no persuasion; he grabs the weapon and resumes firing. Letting a string of vile epithets guide his bullets.

The Transport rises away from the city, away from the robots, and away from the vile Fat Man that spins his web of machinery.

Looking behind us, a Blue Blur suddenly appears and begins to rip the robots apart, bouncing off them like a ridiculous ping-pong ball. Shredding the pursuers that we had just been in mortal fear of like tissue paper

Explosions rock the city; the other teams have completed their task. Station Square is liberated.

...

...

...Again

I sit down in the seat next to the Wounded and put my head in my hands. He calls my name, and I look at turn.

Smiles painfully as a real medic inspects the wound. He says "thanks".

…..My thoughts fall into a recognizable pattern as the adrenalin in my body wears off.

My helmet makes a slight clunk against the wall of the ship as I lean back, my face covered in a dingy mix of sweat, blood, and grease.

Thump-ump thump-ump thump-ump. Thump-ump. Thump-ump.

The ring of explosions fades, though my temples still pound. I sigh, exhausted, but finished.

Thump-ump…thump-ump…thump-ump…


End file.
